


Triunity of Horus

by DamienCourtesWolfe (orphan_account)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/F, F/M, Femslash, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:32:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DamienCourtesWolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a life or death mission gone horribly wrong, a Templar escapes and stumbles upon a power greater than any mortal can ever imagine. PLEASE NOTE: This story takes place in a fictional universe based on a non-fictional universe, as I have never traveled out of my own country and thus have taken many, many liberties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. OIL

**Author's Note:**

> List of Original Characters (This may updated from time to time)
> 
> Mentuhotep – Female leader/Mentor of the Egyptian Brotherhood, Protector of the Ankh  
> Neferure – Lover of Mentuhotep, second-in-command of the Egyptian Brotherhood, Master Assassin  
> Tariq – Elder brother of Ahmed and Ami; Age 20; Rank 10 – Assassin of the 1st Rank  
> Ahmed – Middle brother between Tariq and Ami; Age 17; Rank 7 - Warrior  
> Ami – Youngest brother of Tariq and Ahmed; Age 14; Rank 3 – Assistant  
> Alexander Mellabeench – Defunct, rogue member of a Levant Templar Order  
> Betrose a-Raheem – Master Assassin and betrayer of the Levant Brotherhood
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Roses are red, violets aren't blue, purple isn't actually a color, it's a spectrum of hues occurring between crimson and violet... I'm prattling on now, just please don't sue!

1 - Oil

In attempting to assassinating the new head of the Damascus Templar Order, a Master Assassin of the Brotherhood known as Betrose a-Raheem, Altair knew he would have more of a challenge than he'd ever had in simply killing a target. As the Assassin turned Templar knew the ways of the Brotherhood, sneaking around and pushing for a killing from atop a balcony wouldn't do Altair much good in favor of winning. The enemy already knew Altair's best moves, he'd learned them himself from his time in the Brotherhood. Altair resigned to calling out and fighting the traitor, a fight to the death. One would die, the other would walk away victorious and which ever side won, held the power, held the future of Damascus in their hands, and in the hands of the Templar Order the people of Syria might as well be thrown to the slaughter.

Just as Altair had not anticipated, against all the rules of the Brotherhood and the fighting etiquette between the Assassin and Templar Orders, the fight with the former assassin had been long and drawn out, forced into the open, not the way he planned at all. Altair, a Master Assassin himself under estimated the close combat skills of the traitor. Betrose excelled in hand to hand and Altair suffered many wounds. A few broken ribs from being slammed in his left side with a long hammer and a throwing knife in his right hip, multiple bruises, a broken lip and broken skin on the side of his face from having his head thrown into a pit of sand, and sliced up left hand from quickly grabbing the blade of his Betrose's sword out of desperation for his life. 

Their struggle for control of the sword lasted for only seconds but felt like hours against the burn in Altair's hand, his body screaming at him in bid that he quit, and just as Altair's muscles were about to give in finally his opponent waned, allowing Altair to stab his enemy through the right temple with his hidden blade, the messy entry causing blood to splatter all over Altair's face and chest. Betrose fell into a heap atop of Altair, pushing the wind from Altair's lungs.

The crowd surrounding the fight watched in awe before screaming and shouting out blasphemy. More guards had managed to show up just in time to see the end of the fight. Altair's body threatened to shutdown as he pushed Betrose from him, but the guards managed their swords from their scabbards, ready to slice Altair's body into shreds and Altair knew it was time to go. Just grappling himself off of the ground took more energy then he thought he could muster and Altair barely managed to escape guards, wouldn't have if not for the allies he made some years ago on the streets.

It took him hours to shake the Templars off of his trail, to be able to finally head to the Assassin's Bureau. Each labored breath he took and each step he managed was sheer agony. Altair could swear there was a bone ready to pierce his lung, and he dared not pull the knife from his leg lest he wish to leave a blood trail. By the time Altair limped around the corner of the small encasement he barely had the strength and will to climb the ladder, and just as he was hanging, climbing down into the enclosure, Altair blacked out from the pain in his injured leg when he knocked the knife on the side of the ledge, causing his muscles to become lame. He supposed that he'd must have hit the bottom hard because his landing caused a commotion. “Mentor,” he heard a few assassin's gasp out loud, before he passed out completely, the pain suddenly gone.

Young Ami, only fourteen years into his assassin training, watched first the throwing knife and then his Mentor, Altair, fall to the ground from the height of at least four meters, hearing the crack of bone. Quickly, Ami went over to his Mentors side and called out for help from his brothers. “Mentor is bleeding out. Quickly, we must get him into the interior chamber,” Ami called as he and his two brothers picked Altair up with seeming ease, not that Mentor was heavy.

“Rafiq,” Ami yelled, when they managed to drag Altair into the internal chamber. “Mentor is hurt!” The Rafiq, a man with a long white beard and short black hair, with eyes as old an and as pale as the moon, guided them into the bed chambers, made Altair comfortable and told Ami to start dressing Altair's wounds, which he set to promptly. 

Ami cut off the Mentor's clothing, trying not to feel awkward, flushed out dirt and washed away blood with warm water. He set three broken ribs and a broken arm, stitched up flesh with horsehair and a bone needle, and applied healing salve, pain relieving ointment, and bandages to all the wounds that looked serious. 

Ami managed to have the Mentor in better shape after three hours of working, sweating in the sweltering heat of the midday. Meanwhile, Ami's brothers were ordered by the Rafiq to ride a message back to second in command of the Assassin Brotherhood at Masyaf Castle, explaining to the brothers that it would take a few days, but by carrier pigeon wouldn't much faster and would have been improper given the criticalness of the situation. Ami's brothers were to bring back a carriage to transport Mentor back to Masyaf. 

It was no wonder why Mentor said this wasn't a job for recruits and that he should handle the situation himself. That Templar leader had almost killed their Mentor. 

Ami found himself stuck in the Bureau for a week, the entire time his Mentor remained unconscious. Everyday Ami changed bandages and reapplied ointments, salves, and checked for signs of infection, everyday Ami prayed in front of the fountain for his Mentors safety and peace.

When Ami was finally allowed to leave for Masyaf, he overheard the Rafiq mumbling to himself about how displeased Malik was going to be, as he exited the back way out of the sanctuary, carrying Mentor with the help of his two brothers returned as of the night before. Ami sat along side Mentor for the next three days of travel back to Masyaf Castle. Not once did the Mentor move and the only sound that could be heard coming from the Mentor was his ragged breathing. At least he was alive. Ami had asked the Rafiq when the Mentor would awaken, but the Rafiq could give him no such answer. “It is up to God,” the Rafiq had told him, so Ami prayed.

 

Quite suddenly, Altair was awake, and there was a mumbling so loud it caused a pain in his head and a ringing in his ears, of two voices. No, three and none that he recognized. The flood of panic in his brain trickled down his spine at the thought of having been captured by Templars, so he refrained from opening his eyes and slowed his breathing down, feigning sleep. Altair couldn't hear what they were talking about, it was as if his ears were stuffed with cotton, and then all at once he could feel again, but he dared not scream aloud. Instead, Altair blocked the pain as best as he could to concentrate on casing his surroundings by what he could feel. 

The atmosphere was warm and dry, the light behind his eyes appeared dark but that's probably because there was something covering his head, like a heavy hemp cloth or blanket, and his entire body screamed in pain, and by way of how the sounds were now traveling he was alone in the room but to be sure he needed to use his eagle vision which was of no help since he couldn't open his eyes without risking being discovered awake, just in case the blanket wasn't fully covering his head. Altair just needed to stay put for the time being, wait for something to happen, would have waited forever if not for the twinge in his leg which made him groan under his breath. Altair prayed no one heard.

“Mentor, you are awake.”

That sounded like Ami, one of his assassin recruits. Altair let out his breath and opened his eyes to the light behind the cloth, a light of purple, orange, and pink, willing them to adjust and stop burning. “How long have I been asleep for my eyes to burn at a sun that has just begun to rise,” Altair asked as he looked around. 

Ami, hood-less, smiled and stood up from the chair he'd been resting on to remove the sheet from Altair's head, without disturbing Malik, the second-in-command who insisted on watching Altair for the night in the place of Ami who had done so much already. Ami had come in around in the early morning and thrown a light blanket around Malik, as the winter morning frost was enough to chill to the bone.

“You've been asleep for eleven days, Mentor,” Ami said and decided that a full debriefing was in order since Mentor would push for it anyway. “It took us a ten days to move you from the Bureau in Damascus safely to Masyaf Castle by way of horse and cart. You've been here since yesterday evening.”

“It was you cared for me Ami,” Altair questioned and turned his head to look at the sixteen year old apprentice, wishing he could will his muscles to sit himself up. “Where are your elder brothers Ahmed and Tariq? Last I remember you three were supposed to be together after Betrose tried to murder you.”

“We are all here, Mentor, safe in Masyaf,” said Ahmed, the second eldest, as he and Tariq walked into the room. 

“What of your mother, did she make it out of Damascus?”

Tariq, the eldest, spoke this time, his head held heavily. Tariq's words did not come easy, despite his twenty years of assassin training and high rank, and were no easier to hear than they were to speak, especially for young Ami who turned his head and closed his eyes tight while his eldest brother spoke.

“No Mentor,” Tariq said giving a shake of his head. His eyes seemed to darken. “While you were fighting our father, mother was killed by his General. The Brotherhood already recovered her body. She was rap-... she was soiled... and killed by way of... asphyxiation. Her esophagus was very bruised, almost as if the General had... they found the Generals se-”

Altair stopped Tariq before he could further disturb his younger brothers. “That's enough Tariq. It will suffice for now.”

“Mentor, if you would excuse Ami and I now,” Ahmed spoke up. The younger looked a little green. “We must be going, we have training. Come Ami, the mentor is waiting.”

“As you were,” Altair said, willing his eyes to close as well, to block out the pain and the thoughts of Hayfa being violated by that Templar bastard, Alexander Mellabeench. He waited until the boys were out of earshot, before speaking again.

“Tariq,” Altair addressed. “I want you to take a few days off to plan your mother's burial. That's an order. You can train with your brothers if you must do something but you are taking at least a week off. Finding out what happened to your mother and the betrayal of your father has marked your soul with darkness and darkness that can easily grow into much more. I suggest you find a way to reconcile, lest your emotions cloud your judgment and you end up being killed yourself. Go in safety and peace my student.”

“Yes Mentor. If you need anything, Master Malik is sleeping behind you and the physician is only next door to your room. All you need is to call and he will bring you anything you wish. Safety and peace, Mentor.” Tariq bowed to Altair and left the room, silent like the assassin he is, chaste like the virgin he had been before seeing the condition of his mother after her death, leaving Altair who sighed in sadness for the young man.

After reaffirming his mind to block the pain in his body, he resigned move to get a more comfortable position and a view of the sleeping Malik. The whole process of moving his legs and his arms and inching his body slightly onto his side took what seemed like hours of excruciating pain, but was only a few minutes. His right arm cursed him and his left hand willed him dead, his right hip wouldn't move and his left side felt like dead wait. Betrose was a lot better in combat than Altair had imagined, all those years Betrose must have been holding back because Altair remembered besting him in every fight. Well, it was confirmed that Betrose had been betraying the Brotherhood for years now and that his father was secretly a Templar, so why should it surprise Altair that Betrose would be throwing fights in training? 

Altair decided that he wouldn't think to heavily on it anymore and continued to move himself. Malik stirred when Altair's hand bumped up against the other man who's head was resting on Altair's other pillow, which caused Altair to almost howl in pain, but instead he hushed himself by grinding his teeth together in the chance the he wouldn't wake the sleeping Malik. 

“Altair,” Malik said sitting up almost immediately after he blinked away sleep and noticed Altair was awake and shuffling over. “What are you doing? You shouldn't be moving right now. Are you in pain? Of course you would be, let me get the physician.”

Altair sighed, calling out Malik's name for the third time, louder than every other time, which finally managed to gain Malik's attention. “Don't call for the physician just yet. It seems that Ami did a great job in fixing me up. Considering the beating I took, how much pain is radiating throughout my body right now, and how much is not, I'm fine for now.”

Malik's face flooded with subtle anger. “Novice, you're not invincible. You had help waiting for you, you could have just whistled and our men would have surrounded Betrose! You didn't have to suffer this Altair.”

Altair retorted, “Sometimes the right path is not always the easiest one, Malik. Our men were busy saving the civilians who were being lead to die.”

“You rerouted our assassins in Damascus. Why?”

“I couldn't just let the civilians to die Malik,” Altair answered truthfully. “That would make us no better than the Templars who care nothing for the lives of the people.”

“So you would have let yourself, the leader of the Levant Brotherhood, die to save a handful of people, and leave the Brotherhood without a Mentor?” Malik questioned, his voice cutting.

“Yes Malik I would, if it was for the greater good,” Altair retorted chiding Malik. “Just because I am a leader does not mean my life is more valuable than the life of any other. Every soul is worthy of being saved. Besides, I knew I would be the victor.”

“Altair, no one can know if they will be victorious in a fight like that,” Malik scolded back. “Unless... The Apple...”

Altair didn't speak.

“You used The Apple,” Malik accused. “You used that blasphemous thing to look into your own future Altair!”

“I only saw how I would die Malik,” Altair admitted with a touch of shame in his voice. “That's how I knew I would win or at least live to see another day, to fight him again and win, besides, that's not the point. Fifty people lived because of what I did, Malik.”

Malik became silent and in a little voice he replied, “You could have been killed.”

“I told you, Malik,” Altair said. “I knew I would not die.”

“But I didn't Altair,” Malik said raising his voice a little higher. “How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't die?”

Feeling chastised, Altair asked, “You were worried about me?”

“Of course I was worried about you, Altair. I love you!” Malik yelled at Altair, and then he was silent and Malik's eyes shot to the floor. Altair didn't have to say anything, nor did he wish too. Malik knew he was stepping on a dangerous line and when Malik stood up, Altair felt his heart being squeezed out like a wet sponge, the pain came on with a pang and hurt worse than any wound on his flesh.

Malik bowed. “I have to go. I'm glad to see you are well Mentor,” Malik said as he walked out the door in a rush. “Safety and peace.”

Altair could have stopped him, wished he wouldn't leave, but according to the code of the Brotherhood and because of the way of their Creed, Altair and Malik were destined to suffer for eternity for they could never be together. Everyday, their hearts break a little more. Altair knew Malik loved him, and Malik knew the same of Altair, but their destinies would never mingle the way they their hearts told them, they were like oil and water.


	2. WATER

2 - Water

Keeping his mind off of things was hard and Malik, in order to keep busy like a second in command should be when the Mentor was laid up in bed, tugged at the purse strings of multiple informants, filed away messages flown in from different cities by way of carrier pigeon, recorded down statements from low level assassins sent out to gather information and high level assassins sent out to kill dangerous people after carefully extracting knowledge, anything the Assassin Order could pry on the location of Alexander Mellabeench, the Templar General who seemed to have disappeared into thin air but still has his Templar soldiers doing dirty business for him. Malik grasped for, yearned for, grabbed at anything to connect the dots. Too many assassins died because of Betrose and bringing down the entire Templar Order in under the control of Alexander would be the only end to suffice the suffrage of the Levant Assassin Order.

There were too many leads, too many false truth's, Malik found. For hours on end, day by day, week by week for a month, while Altair rested and recovered, Malik sifted and sifted, sending assassins out this way or that, to Tyre, to Ceasarea, to Jerusalem, back to Damascus, Acre, and every city small or large, up and down the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. Carefully, he eliminated one piece of information after another, reporting daily to Altair who seemed to be getting better by the day. By the end of the month, Altair could walk and breath without trouble, but his hand and his broken arm were still healing. Altair had gotten and infection in his left hand prolonging the healing period existentially. Today it was looking much better though, and Altair didn't suffer from a fever any longer. 

Perhaps now that he was getting proper sleep, Malik would finally be able to centralize a spot to look for the Templar General. Those had been long nights, a week with a fever had Altair delusional and they needed to sedate him. Malik spent most of the night changing and re-changing sweat soaked sheets, placing lukewarm wet cloths on Altair's forehead, and making sure that Altair received his medicine. The physician said he would do it, but Malik couldn't have the Brotherhoods only physician fatigued and unable to care for the rest of the order, but honestly Malik didn't believe the premonition The Apple gave about Altair's death in a large dark room all alone, and thought that Altair would pass if his fever didn't drop. Malik found himself worried Altair would die in some horridly ironic way, especially when he awoke from a light sleep to find Altair crying out speaking in tongues Malik didn't understand. 

What more could he do to help calm his best friend, and the person he loved the most in the world, than to coddle him, cradle him in his breast, shush him until there was nothing but the silence of sleep, which eventually took Malik as well. Malik was up again only a few hours later, making sure that the physician who would be coming to check on Altair, would not find them alone together in bed, half naked and feeding upon one another's warmth in a lovers embrace. It took every bit of self control Malik had in him not to rub his erection against Altair's leg, just to get some kind of satisfaction, a small taste of what might have been, in a heated moment as Altair had managed to snuggle a little closer, rubbing his buttocks against Malik.

Malik shook his head violently, willing the image of what Malik had dreamed about every night after that away from his field of vision, trying to remember how to read once again, since he'd been looking at the same three lines for the last ninety minutes, but didn't know what the scribbles had to tell him. The first thing in order for this months specialty training was teaching assassins how to write properly, how to spell, and how to use proper grammar. With a sigh, Malik gave up reading after attempting rereading the third line for hour straight wondering who taught this man to write. Eventually with heavily frustrated heart, mind, and body he sauntered out of the library, and into the courtyard where Altair's harem was busy with the grounds keeping, and caring for the infants, toddlers, and children born into the order, feeding them, changing them, and teaching them how to climb trees and swim. Each member of the Brotherhood must do their part, even the women, who were not allowed to be on the killing field, nor be trained in ways of the creed. 

Malik watched a beautiful slim young houri, light skinned with hair the color of gold and eyes as deep blue as the sea, dressed in a light, finely woven and intricately detailed white robe, comfortably because Alair never saw the purpose of dressing them up in the scorching heat since they were never to leave the fortress anyway, as she bounced a nearly-naked smiling infant boy upon her knees. The houri had been but a child the last time Malik had really noticed her, traded for three pieces of Kingdom gold to Al Mualim when she was only six as a rare beauty from the west, perfect for a harem, but Al Mualim only used her for the assassin initiations, making her strip in front of the drugged young men as a promise that should they follow the teachings of the creed, that she and many more houri would be theirs for the picking. 

Sure, Altair never touched the houri nor did he ever touch the harem women that were liberated of Al Mualim but knew no other existence in this world other than as sex slaves, but how could Malik ever hope to compete with such beauty for the attentions of Altair when sex was readily available whenever needed, wished, or wanted, and restricted only for Altair except on special occasion. What more could Malik offer besides his love, as love is not enough to get you through such hostile times as these. Physical comforts, carnal desires are what drives the heart of a man to continue on through a life of so much displeasure, so much blood and killing and hate. Such as key would be useless without a lock, Malik found he could not offer those things to Altair for Malik too held only a key. 

Oh but how grand it would be, Malik started to imagine as he flipped through pages of a tired looking old book he carried with him at all times, as he sat down in a unoccupied spot in the lower gardens that over looked the sea. Malik pulled from his robe a piece of graphite and continued on a sketch he'd started none too long ago, after he found out that Altair had loved him like no other. It wasn't dirty, like the drawings sold in the market after dark of topless women doing unspeakable things with their many orifices, it didn't even show blasphemous images, no. Malik worked on the detailing of a missing finger, trying for it to be just perfect, sketching out how he remembered Altair's hand feeling that day. It wasn't just sex that Malik wanted from Altair, it wasn't just his body crying out in lust, it was more than that. Dare he even think such a thing while Malik detailed a broken finger nail?

“Am I interrupting, Malik?”

Taken by surprise Malik switched the image quickly back to the book keeping and jostled down a few notes as he waited for his guest to sit down on the pillows he'd crushed himself into.

“Altair, how did you know I was down here and what are you doing out of bed,” Malik questioned in a scolding tone.

Altair seemed to ignore it as he chided on, “Ami told me he saw you walking like the dead into the gardens.” 

Malik took a moment to light the hookah.“It is only after noonday, Ami should still be in practice,” he said before drawing the smoke into himself and releasing it, gesturing the hose over to Altair.

“He is. Ami is expanding his intellect by reading physicians literature, like I told him too,” Altair took the hose that Malik offered him and put the mouth tip to his lips, drawing up smoke through the hose and into his lungs. He held it for a second before releasing out into the open air. “He's a bright young boy and would make a great physician, something the Brotherhood needs more than soldiers, and though the boy can fight as well as any other recruit his age, he has not the mindset to fully live the life. He has a heart in caring for people.”

Malik took the hose offered to him before continuing, “Are you so sure Altair? We have only a handful of recruits, and more and more our assassins are being wounded on the streets by Templars with strange weapons that spit out the poison of a white asp or worse. A physician in Masyaf will not help if our Brothers die in different cities.” 

Satisfied, Altair handed the hose back to Malik, who put the hose down for the time being and relaxed against the pillows.

Altair remained upright. “Then we need to start training all the men to treat wounds as well as poison, and have the physician mentor those who excel in his arts.”

“First they need to learn out to properly write and spell,” Malik scoffed. “Most of the coded messages I received made no sense at all, impossible to decipher because of the terrible handwriting and paraphrasing.” 

Altair paused for a moment, then spoke, “I think we should start training the women to read and write, and decode the secret messages. That will leave more time for us to file them, and train and send out assassins quicker.” 

Malik nearly laughed at the thought of women doing work. “The women,” he questioned. “What do women know about anything Altair? They are about as useless as they are beautiful.”

Altair was serious as he retorted, “A woman I met before the death of Al Mualim, the woman who masqueraded as Robert de Sable, she knew a lot. She spoke of things in ways most women in Syria would not know anything of. She was educated, the Templars trained her and look how useful she had became?”

“Are you sure this is wise Altair? To go against the creed?”

“Malik, I think it is time the creed changed.”

“Changed,” Malik questioned, looking up at the single cloud as it formed different shapes in the sky. “Why?”

Altair laid back. “Look around you Malik. Do your eyes not see the world is constantly turning, circling around with the flow of time, changing the shape and look of the lands, the trees, the animals, even ourselves and the human race as a whole? The Templars would never expect women assassins because it is not something Al Mualim would do. We could take them by surprise.”

“I do not think the rest of the Brotherhood would like that very much, nor would they tolerate women assassins Altair.”

“Perhaps not,” Altair sighed. “It's a start though, a step in the right direction, to at least teach the younger women and the female babes how to read and write, and basic self defense, should the castle ever again become under siege. Even if it's under the cover of darkness or in dungeons. Even if they are only women, they carry with them the ability to produce sons, the sons that fill our ranks. We should also start pushing for the men to better respect the women in their lives. Too many times, I have walked among the people of Masyaf and seen abuse, black eyes and bloody lips that most of the time the girls and women never deserved.”

Malik went quite, remembering the first time he'd ever struck a woman. Drunken, angry from losing his arm, he demanded a wench bring him another drink. When she refused because her owner told her not to serve Malik anymore, Malik berated her and crossed her covered face with his hand, only to wake up the next day with the worst headache ever the feeling that it wasn't her fault the owner of the tavern couldn't come out and be a man. Guilt still ate at him to this day. Perhaps it was time to apologize. Altair would want that, expect that from his assassins, wouldn't he?

“Al Mualim would have never stood for this Altair, but you have a nobility about you that cannot even compare the richest king or prince. I will follow you where ever you go, whatever you do.”

Malik's eye were met with those of Altair. “Thank you Malik. I don't know what I would do without you.”

Malik's face went hot and a brief moment of silence ensued between the two as a warm breeze blew through the gardens, disturbing the flowers and the pushing the fountain water to spray on their faces, mercifully cooling his skin. Malik could hear the waves wash over the rocks below, and secretly he wished he could hold the hand he'd been drawing on that scrap piece of parchment. His heart had swelled at the compliment but felt squeezed when he could not express his love like he wished.

Altair cleared his throat and pushed his eyes to the sky once again. “So what is it you were working on before I interrupted you?”

Malik too forced his eyes upward. “Trying to do some bookkeeping, balancing finances, easy things. Before I came in here, I was decoding the latest information, trying to find Alexander Mallebeench.”

“What have you found out? Any leads as to his whereabouts?”

Malik shook his head, more for himself than for dramatic effect as Altair couldn't see him. “I wish I could say yes, but that is not possible. Though I have managed to narrow it down to three possibilities: Ceasarea, Tiberias, and Cyprus with Cyprus being the most likely.”

“Why Cyprus?”

“Alexander is paying his Templar soldiers with Cyprus gold, and there were traces of salt found on the boxes of Cyprus we confiscated from the ports in Tiberias and Ceasarae, and slaves that where being sent out to Cyprus to work in the salt mines. There is a known Templar in Cyprus, Armand Bouchart, perhaps he went to flee there?”

Altair didn't agree, explaining, “Alexander would not go anywhere that he would be easily tracked. Alexander knows that he is being hunted. Have we heard from the the Egyptian Assassin Order? Perhaps he has taken leave for Cairo.”

Again, Malik shook his head but this time, he found Altair looking at him. Malik explained, “The Mentor of the Egyptian Assassin Order has cut all contact with the Levant Assassin Orders, without giving reason as to why, but I suspect it was because of the betrayal of Al Mualim. For now, they remain out of our reach.”

“I decoded some of Al Mualim's last transcripts,” Altair said. “Apparently he was planning to send the Templars to Egypt to kill the sultan and overthrow the sultanate by carefully establishing Templar power throughout a course of ten years. Having been in league with Betrose and Al Mualim, Alexander might be counting on the Levant and Egyptian Orders no longer associating with one another. Do we have contact with informants in Egypt?”

“Yes, but” Malik answered. “Every message we send out to Egypt calling for peace has more than likely been destroyed. There is no way to get a message to the informants.” 

Altair sat up, willing himself to stand. “We must send our best assassins out to Egypt.”

“Altair,” Malik disagreed, though remained seated. “I do not think that is wise. You have just gained the leadership of the Brotherhood, it would be risky to send our people to such hostile territory.” 

“We have no choice then, Malik. You and I shall go, we shall leave the brothers in charge. Tariq needs the leadership experience to become a Master Assassin.”

“Altair,” Malik said as now he stood up in objection to Altair, facing him. “We cannot trust them, they are still under investigation. Their father was a Templar spy.”

“They won't betray us Malik.”

Malik accused, “You looked at The Apple again Altair?

“No Malik,” Altair retorted. “The Apple won't show me anything else for now.”

“Then explain your reasoning?”

“Tariq,” Altair began to explain. “Will not betray us because he mourns for his mother, who was killed by a Templar because of his father. There is no way he would have the heart and mind to betray the order. It is the only will give him retribution for his mother's death, the thing he wishes for most.” 

Malik hung his head. “Ah, I see, how could I have missed that?”

“Possibly because you haven't been sleeping that well since I've been laid up in bed.”

Malik was silent, but his eyes spoke volumes to Altair, the one who knew him the best. “You don't actually think I haven't noticed?”

“I do not know why I never expected you, Altair, not to notice.” Malik's voice was spiked with an undertone of spite.

Exasperation crossed Altair's face, making Malik feel slightly guilty for the spite in voice. “Malik, I am no mind reader. Fatigue is plastered all over your face and you can see the dark circles under your eyes. What I cannot see is how any one has not told you to rest yet. You've not had a full nights sleep in a month.”

“I am fine Altair,” Malik said and puffed out his chest in attempt to console the pride that was crushed underneath Altair's caring voice. 

“No you are not,” Altair said scolding Malik. “Unfortunately though, I need you this time. You are the only one left with the experience needed to take the trip to Cairo. Perhaps on the way, you will catch up on your sleep. We will leave in the morning.” 

It was Malik's turn to be exasperated, and he watched Altair start to walk away, Malik objected, “But Altair, it is too soon. You are just healed, you should not be going on any missions!”

Altair turned around to face Malik again, the concern could be seen quite clearly on his face. “What other choice do we have Malik, tell me. Alexander is too dangerous to be left alone, he knows too many secrets, and we don't have forces experienced enough to deal with him.”

Malik ran the situations over and over again in his head, coming to the same conclusions, death and disruption of the already hostile environment of the Brotherhood, a succession Altair wouldn't be able to keep a hold of if he were the cause of more deaths. Malik sighed, “I guess you're right Altair. I will have ready the necessary preparations.”

Altair put a hand on Malik's shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Thank you Malik,” he said before turning back to leave the gardens. “Rest up, it will be a busy day tomorrow. Safety and peace.” 

“Safety and peace, Altair,” Malik said as he watched Altair retreat back into the castle. Though the harem tried hard to get this attentions, Altair only smiled at them and greeted them with dignity, wishing the peace on this beautiful day. Malik sighed, resigning to putting something stronger into the hookah, and continuing with the graphite sketch of Altair's hand holding his own in a tangled embrace.

 

Dawn rose faster over the horizon than Altair wished, as he could not keep asleep the entire night with his mind running like water down an oasis fall, and the lengthy trip on horseback did little to help with the awkward silence that passed between Malik and he. Sure they communicated, talking about the mission, devising plans while they rested and ate, fed the horses and walked them instead of riding, but the silence of their hearts was discouraging, despite that they were alone for the entire trip to Jerusalem. Night after night, while they traveled, Altair kept awake longer, feigning sleep to watch Malik rest in light slumber, wishing only to go to him, coddle him, so that they both could get proper rest. 

Dressed in scholar clothing, they were not bothered by the guards that marched the kingdom roads, so long as they kept their heads down, but Templars knew them by their faces which kept the duo on edge making proper sleep something to be desired but never sought out. Still, Altair and Malik did managed to rest enough to not be entirely useless, which made it easier for them to hunt and keep their bellies full with hare meat on an almost daily basis.

Jerusalem was a main stop on their journey to Cairo, where they stopped to rest in a bureau, to eat a hearty meal, restock on supplies, send a pigeon out to Tariq with the message they had arrived. Altair will send out another pigeon when they arrive in Cairo. Altair managed a caravan ride for rest of the way, feeling the pain on the insides of this thighs might become a threat if he continued on by horse, should he be needed to defend himself, for Jerusalem was as far as the Brotherhood influence had reach. Riding out of Jerusalem, Altair prepared himself to expect the unexpected. 


	3. Emulsion

3 – Emulsion

Altair and Malik, having been walking most of the morning broke away from the caravan, stealing a camel for each of them as well, with their packs on their backs shortly before Bab Al-Nasr, one of the entrances into Cairo. Keeping the gate in sight, they strayed away from the grassy path to set up a small encampment away from the sights of archers, under the cover of palm brush. 

Later in the day Malik managed to steal a pack of robes to wear from a merchant caravan headed into market. The cotton _izar_ wraps were loose enough that Altair and Malik could equip themselves fully with multiple throwing knives, a combat knife, and for Altair, a hidden blade, yet plain enough that Altair and Malik could walk around the market without being suspected as dangerous, mindful that not only where they to be on the look out for Templars and Crusaders, but the Egyptian Order of assassins as well. Blending was of high priority, as well as finding a base to conduct their investigation from. 

Sneaking into the city, mapping out the topography in his head was first on the list for Altair, with the sneaking not being much of a problem as Altair, with his fluidity of movement and mastery of his disguise, made it in Cairo without effort, the guards barely having the time to notice him at all. Trickier was finding the right places to map out the city from, for Cairo was a large populace, at least twice the size of Damascus. Before leaving for the city, Malik had offered that they buy a map since they were both unfamiliar with the city. Altair wrote it off like he would not have trouble at all mapping the city with his head, but now that Altair was inside the gates, he would swallow his pride and buy a map from the stall just inside the gates, even if it was bit more than dinars than Malik had expected. 

Altair was careful not to let the robes he wore ride up his arms and expose his hidden blade as he stalked around the city looking for landmarks. At least three hours into the city, after having traveled to and from landmarks like the Church of the Virgin, the Hussien Mosque, the Azhar Library, and the Muayed Mosque, climbing up each one for a mental image of the city, finally did Altair reach the borders of the outer city, Bab Zuweila, the entrance to the inner city and the Citadel, which was mostly occupied by the upper class, but as for an Assassin den, Altair could not tell. By not marking their dens, the Cairo Assassin Order kept away outsiders, if there were even dens any longer. Perhaps the Assassins in Cairo had all but been destroyed by the Templar influence.

Over head an eagle squawked as it soared away from the early evening sun, signaling the rapid loss of daylight that would turn the desert from an oven to a frozen wasteland within a few hours. Now that Altair knew the outer city and mapped it accordingly, getting back Bab Al-Nasr would be quick, for Altair was eager to be back with Malik and know that he'd been fairing well on his own. Getting back outside the gates was harder than it was to get in, but it was starting to get cold, the red sun at the horizon, and Altair had to hurry. He slid between the people, fluid like water slid though rocks, sneaking past the guards by the gates now closed to the public, and under the bars to let himself out. Though it seemed simple enough but it took more energy and patience than Altair found he could spare had right now, and what he wanted most after the long day, as he walked over the sandy grassland, covering himself with his _mul_ _â_ _'a_ to better protect from the cold, was to rest and preferably next to Malik.

As noticeable smoke poured upwards into the air as their encampment came into view, Altair knew instantly that something was wrong. Immediately he burst into a long stride sprint across the sand as best as he could without losing his footing on the pliable ground, for smoke drew too much attention and Malik had more sense than that. Fare farer than a hands toss away Altair was already scouting the encampment for signs of a struggle because Malik was no where to be seen, blankets and weapons were thrown askew, and the camels were none to be seen. Blinking into eagle vision, Altair spotted splatters of blood soaked into the parched ground, that he would not have been able to be noticed with normal vision. A blood stained throwing knife had it's bladed to the south which horse tracks followed in a group of at least six steeds. 

“Malik,” Altair nearly cried out, shamelessly even knowing that Malik had been taken, and would not answer him back. After gathering up what little food and water that had been left, Altair, with death in his eyes, followed the tracks of the horses and the trail of dried blood, throughout the night not wanting the windy desert day to cover their trail. Along the way Altair chanced by another encampment, stole a camel and continued on the long trek south east, deep into the Egyptian desert, passed where the dry grassland changed over into sand. Altair did not sleep, not even as day break broke and the sweltering heat beat down upon him, though he removed his wool robe and wrapped a linen cloth around his head to protect from the sun and the whipping sand. 

By midday, a structure broke out of the horizon and continued to grow as Altair traveled closer and closer, finally appearing completely by night fall. The horse tracks lead straight up to the pyramid, even though the blood stopped some time ago. Under the cover of the darkness, Altair camped, wrapped in his wool robe again. Without the will to stay awake longer, Altair rested after what little nourishment he had left, and feeding and watering his camel, and eventually, his body resigning to its fatigue, Altair succumbed to slumber against the warmth of his camel.

When the light of day finally broke over the sandy horizon, Altair awoke with a start, to the scream of his camel and scimitar in his face, multiple arrows ready to be knocked and a few javelins pointed to his belly, with a beautifully ornate, very sharp dagger ready to slice his throat. An impractically clad woman, dark skinned with a hood adorned with the head of hawk, atop of Altair, pressed the knife into his neck, and spoke very broken in his language, “Come. Do not fight.” 

“I will not fight,” he said but, as he stood up with the knife within a breath of his throat, Altair realized that his artillery had been removed, including his hidden blade, leaving him without a defense, and leaving him without a choice. In the interest of his health, Altair allowed his hands to be tied behind his back, and allowed the dark skinned, impractically armored, hawk hooded people to guide him over the sands and into the pyramid, which was larger than it looked from afar, and much larger Altair expected it to be, outside and in. 

The deserts sweltering heat was nothing compared to the suffocating humidity Altair experienced as they descended the slope inside the pyramid, the passage that undoubtedly went below the ground, and Altair wished he had a hand free to removed the wool robe he still had wrapped around himself. Thankfully, his leather boots gave him enough traction on the slippery floor of sweating brick that he would not find himself sliding down without a way to stop. The descent in the dark narrow corridor lasted for what seemed an hour before Altair was stopped in front of doors that seemed to be made of solid gold, framed with lit torches, intricately etched with pictures and symbols of birds and squiggles, among other things like eyes, cats, wolves, and beings with wings or discs on their heads, some of which were bright and colorful, others bland, but none of which Altair understood except for the insignia, the emblem of the assassins. 

Despite the questions tumbling around in his thoughts, Altair remained silent, following the woman and her guards through the door and into a large, semi-dark subterranean chamber, the walls of which were sweating. It was cooler in this chamber than it was in the descending corridor, but the humidity was still stifling, and it smelled of musk and rusted metal, and burning oil from the four torches in the four corners of the large chamber and the four along the walls that brought almost no light into the room. Altair almost did not see the chains hooked to the walls or the standing pillories in the middle of the room, until the torch like, disturbed by the air movement from closing the doors, flicked over the metal making them gleam. He was trapped now, without a way out until his captors came for him again, and reminiscent of the visions The Apple had shown him of his death. 

Stagnant air seemed to accentuate the noise of his feet hitting the ground as he investigated further on into the chamber, trying hard not to trip over chains and make more noise than he already made, mostly out of habit. Eagle vision, though useful at any other time when true light was shining, would not help him in this dark place, and thusly he tripped over a long forgotten corpse, tangled his feet in torn clothing and fell to the ground, cursing his tied hands. He grumbled as he lifted his head, and rolled onto his back to lift himself up when something flitted across his feet. 

A blade would have been the first thing he reached for would he have had one swinging from his belt, ready to strike at the fleeing thing, but instead Altair reached out and grabbed for the giant grave rat, yanking it into the air by it's tail causing it to squeal in pain. He threw the rat against the wall, cursing, after it bit him causing him to yelp.

“If you have come for me to answer more of your questions, you will get the same results,” a voiced laced with anger called out in the darkness, followed by the sound of spittle hitting the concrete floor, and Altair flinched. “You swag-bellied sons of whores can go swivey yourselves with the devils warty prick.”

“Malik,” Altair called out in question, following the voice through the large chamber, which seemed to be coming from the far left corner, hard to tell with the small repetitive echoes of rats scampering from place to place running into and over dried bones, gnawing on cloth and sharpening their teeth on metal. The uneven lighting of the torches was not of much help either.

Malik looked up at him when Altair finally reached the end of the room. “Altair,” Malik asked weakly, he was completely naked, sloped down, kneeling on his knees against the hard cool floor, with a buckle around his neck chained to the wall. It gave Malik a merciful five feet of walking room, but Malik was neither standing nor walking, seeming too exhausted to move onto his feet.

“Malik, are you alright,” Altair asked as he knelt down to eye level with Malik, reaching a hand out to comfort his swollen face, turning side to side, inspecting the damage. A black eye, a bloody lip, nothing urgently needing attention.

His tone was sarcastic. “I am fine Altair,” Malik said. “I am just enjoying a small picnic with some of our friends on the beach, kicking my feet into the waves and watching the sunset.”

Altair continued to check Malik over, checking for broken bones, bruises and such, his finding inconclusive for anything serious, meaning their captors were trained and would not just beat them to death or keep them down here for nothing. The woman was after something. When Malik turned a bit timid from a coming from noise from the other side of the room, Altair eyed the lacerations on his back. “What have they done to you?”

“They tickled me with a leather whip,” Malik answered as a mockery of Altair's question. “What do you think they did to me, Novice? For Mentor you ask questions that do not make sense at times.”

Altair, ignoring Malik's mental defensiveness, inspected the lacerations from what looked like a whip. “What do they want? What did they ask of you?” 

“They asked me,” Malik's answer was interrupted by a muted yelp and a startling jump, when Altair accidentally touched a raw, bleeding wound. Altair apologized. “They asked me the whereabouts of a Templar scum, that the milk-livered swine seem to think is my master!”

Altair went to back to looking at the lacerations. “Malik, you need to calm down, I cannot see how bad these are unless you hold still.”

“Why should I Altair, because you say so? Do you not have eyes Altair, to see what that _female_ has done to me? How they ambushed me like cowards? I was called a traitor, interrogated about a Templar I do not know, and tied to a post and whipped while you were skulking around that forsaken city. By the devils hairy ass I will not calm down! I need to get out of here.”

“Let me help you Malik,” Altair said as he reached out to Malik. Malik looked at him with malice and scooted away from him as fast as he could, pridefully. 

“Damn you Altair, I am an assassin. Just like you! This should not happen to me,” Malik's voice broke as he confessed. “That I would not find a way to escape, but for this missing arm of mine! It is your fault.”

Malik's words bit into Altair, but anger clouded the judgement. Altair grabbed Malik by his only arm before Malik could scrape his knees any longer on the concrete, the bleeding was already bad enough. If Malik managed to get an infection, escaping this place would be out of the question. “Get a hold of yourself, Malik. We need to get out of here, but we need to think reasonably!” 

Malik pulled at Altair's hand, breaking free, scooting to the edge of his leash. “It's too late Altair, that bitch has poisoned me. There is no escape, Altair, do you not see,” he asked, a stream of hot wet tears fell down Malik's face as he smiled. Altair grabbed for him again, willing his hands to find a way to break the buckle around Malik's neck, but Malik struggled.

“Damn you Malik, hold still!”

“We are already dead Altair, buried and in the false heaven that Al Mualim promised us. I see not a single houri, yet we were promised so many of them! When I get back I shall kill him for the lies he spreads.” 

“Al Mualim is dead Malik, you know that.”

“Snakes,” Malik yelled out and jumped to his feet, knocking Altair onto his rear, suddenly having the vigor to move. Altair chased Malik around, looking for anything, any sign of a needle prick, a small bleeding wound, a spider bite, but found nothing, though it did not help that Malik was moving and would not hold still. “There are snakes all over the place Altair! Where did they all come from?”

“Hold still, I cannot find a wound. Malik, where did they prick you?”Altair grabbed Malik as best he could with his tied hands, holding him in a lock, steering clear of the lacerations on his back. Malik smiled and stepped in closer, pushing himself into Altair. Altair felt his face become hot and his body pulse with sensations. A seductive gaze glazed over Malik's face, Altair would have found it hard to resist had the situation not been so desperate. Malik was going insane from some kind of poison and Altair could not help. He was powerless.

“Prick, I have a prick,” Malik said, his face lighting up. He ground himself against Altair's groin, sending another pulse of sensation coursing through his body. Altair groaned and wished he did not.

Malik grabbed Altair's hands, placing it on his fullness, making Altair slightly uncomfortable. “Do you like my prick Altair,” Malik whispered in his ear. Feeling his world spiraling out of control hit Altair like a brick. His head was spinning and Altair needed now.

Altair, getting his hands back with some effort, feeling his mind slip back into place when he felt a skittering rat cross his feet yet again, pleaded to Malik, grabbing Malik's head in his hands, “Malik, stop this. Talk to me with your head, speak from your mind. Where is the entrance of the poison so I can do something about it.”

“My head is very big Altair, perhaps too big for you,” Malik backed away from Altair and began a seductive sashay around in a half moon behind Altair, making Altair feel like he were the one chained up, unable to move. Malik whispered, grabbing him from behind, hot breath in his ear, making Altair shiver. He'd never felt so powerless yet so willing to be powerless. “We can try, can we not Altair?”

Altair groaned as Malik rubbed his erection against him. He swallowed hard when Malik reached around to grab him, and Altair nearly dropped to the ground when Malik's bare hand stroked him. Altair had never before been in so much need before Malik fell to the ground, dropping like a rag doll.

“Malik,” Altair exclaimed, shocked. 

“Talk Altair Ibn-La'Ahad.”

Altair turned to the voice of the previously scantily clad woman carrying a large torch, to see her draped in armor and equipped with numerous weapons. “Talk or I let him die!” 


	4. CLEANSING

4 – Cleansing

The armored woman had seemed to appear from out of no where as a torch was suddenly lit and took Altair by surprise though he willed himself not to show his fear. The armored woman wore the same falcon headed hood over head, using the shadow to cover her face. Menace is what she was trying to project, fear was what she was trying to cultivate from Altair. Foam frothed from the side of Malik's lips as he convulsed on the hard stone floor, jerking and shaking, scraping his already cut open his skin and groaning at the pain and Altair could not help but feel a pang of hurt at the sight of Malik's suffering, but many years of training ingrained into his mind made shell his emotions so as not to be an easy target for blackmail.

Altair swallowed before he spoke so that his voice would not crack when he said, “You act as if his life is of consequence to me.”

As she walked the torch the armored woman carried in her right hand flared a bit from the sudden wind, creating menacing shadows jumping around in all directions. Stopping just a few feet short of Altair she spoke in a serious tone only this time her ability to speak his language was much better, “You came after this man. For what purpose it is unknown but seeing as this _Malik_ , as you call him by his first name and not his last, cannot be of much use to you, what with his arm the way it is, he must be very special to you.” The armored woman tipped the torch down to better light the waist level of Altair's clothes.

She spoke again,“After that tantalizing display between the two of you and the especially _generous_ display you are showing to me right now, I'd say _Malik's_ life is very much a concern of yours, Altair. I would hate to see your lover die.”

Instead of a blush which threatened to push through to his cheeks, Altair narrowed his eyes when he realized he still had a slight erection. Altair would not hide his erection showing weakness but he could not bluff his way through the armored woman's logic, instead he questioned, “what is it you want?

An unnatural glow lit up the chamber a little more and a woman holding the glowing staff dressed as if she were a priestess, but with a falcon headed hood draped over her like an assassin with gauntlets and a sword strapped to her side, side stepped in “The whereabouts of the traitor.”

The armored woman tried to speak to the priestess but she was silenced with two finger on her lips, what would seemingly have been a protest, had been shushed before the armored woman began to speak which mean this priestess woman was of important stature. Altair stated carefully, “I do not know of who you speak.”

The priestess woman overtook the conversation while the armored woman put out the useless torch light, letting only the cold unnatural glow light up the dark areas of the chamber. It was a chilling effect, ghostly.

“I know that you and your Malik are assassins of the Levant Brotherhood, under a Mentor named Al Mualim, the double agent,” the priestess said with malice in her voice. “The Egyptian Brotherhood should have killed you both where you stood for betraying our Creed and siding with the Templar order to steal our sacred artifacts. Where is Betrose a-Raheem and his Templar General, Alexander Mellabeench?”

Altair was taken aback with the condemnation and accusation of betrayal, but logic persisted in Altair's mind allowing to come to the conclusion that the Egyptian Brotherhood was no longer stationed in Cairo. The carrier pigeons must have been killed by Templar agents. “I see now, this is just as I have suspected. We have been compromised, you must let us take leave to the Assassin Den in Cairo. Masyaf may be in danger.”

“That does not answer my question! Last warning,” the priestess threatened. “Seven minutes before the poison takes full effect and your lover dies.”

There was a growl in Altair's voice that he could not help. “Al Mualim is dead by my hand,” he answered anger in his voice quite apparent. “This you would have known if you had been receiving my messages.”

“Why would the Egyptian Brotherhood receive messages from you, traitor,” the armored woman broke in.

“I am the new Mentor of the Levant Brotherhood,” Altair answered, looking them both in the eyes to back what his words said. Malik's convulsions had stopped for the moment, but froth continued to pour form his mouth showing death would not be much longer. “Al Mualim converted some of our own assassin to work for the Templar Order but they have been executed for betraying the Creed. Also by my hand is the death of Betrose a-Raheem, and it seems that we have a common goal, the death of Alexander Mellabeench. He along with Betrose caused the deaths of several of our ranks and subjected atrocities against the people of Syria.”

“How can we trust you?”

Altair blinked on his eagle vision seeing something he'd not seen before, something he could not begin to describe but what ever it had been was gone now and slowly the priestess woman was deteriorating. It disturbed him as Altair had never before been able to see the health of a person before but he played on it as his only hook. “I see know that your strong stature is a bluff,” Altair called aloud. “The absence of something is making you terribly ill. By your desperation I'd say you need this thing to live seeing as you are alive well beyond normal human years.”

Shock permeated the priestess woman's voice, “You have the vision. This changes everything.”

Obviously confused, the armored woman asked, “What does this mean Mentor?”

“Mentor,” Altair questioned underneath his breath, thankfully neither of the women heard him.

“It means our guest is a son of Isis,” the Mentor answered. “It also means that he is telling the truth.”

Altair cut in, “Son of Isis? What is that?” He was ignored. Altair huffed, tried to speak his question again but he was silenced by the Mentor and felt suddenly chastised.

“You are sure?”

“Yes, Neferure,” the Mentor answered. There was a lit of annoyance in her tone but there was also something else behind the way she talked to armored woman Neferure, something that Altair could not understand though felt as if he should know well.

“Give the armless one the antidote and untie the Levant Mentor,” the Mentor ordered to three assassins that seemed materialize from out of the air, before pointing to Altair with her staff. The glowing light developed an orange hue around the tip of it before the unbreakable rope shackles spontaneously combusted into ash but which left Altair neither on fire nor in pain of scorched skin by the flame. The Mentor turned her back to her assassins as they worked on unshackling Malik. “You will come with me Altair but be warned,” she turned her head to talk to him making sure Altair would hear her. “I still have enough power remaining to kill you should you betray me. We have things we must discuss but first you must be cleansed.” The Mentor addressed her assassins this time. “To me Neferure. The rest of you show our guests to the Queens Suite, have Altair prepared and then bring him to me.”

“What of our weapons and Malik wounds? He will bed ridden for days and our need to leave is urgent,” Altair spoke up as he watched the Mentor left taking the light with her.

Neferure was the one who spoke this time, “Your need is not so urgent as you think Master Assassin. Worry not as your lovers wounds will be treated in the antechamber until Mentor can fully heal him. Your lover will then be cleansed and brought to you, along with your weapons.”

“What is this cleansing you speak of,” Altair asked but Neferure refused and hurried catch up to her Mentor. After a few moments torches were light and Malik was hoisted up onto a stretcher, and speaking in tongues Altair couldn't understand the escort assassins, barely clothed yet heavily equipped, lead him out of the dungeon and back through the tunnel of which they had arrived in. It was only when he stepped out of the cooler chamber and back into the upwards rising tunnel did he realize he was still clothed in his wool and was sweating profusely.

Malik groaned on the stretcher making Altair notice and send the thoughts of his misery jetting to the back of his mind. An antidote had been given to him already and Altair kicked himself mentally for not being able to see which way it was given. From what Altair could tell in the dark chamber before they were greeted by a woman Mentor and her guard Neferure, there was no pin prick where a needle would have left a small welt from the disturbance in the skin. He had wanted to see the antidote being administered to perhaps get an idea of how the poison was administered as well, but the darkness of the chamber when it was had made a wonderful cloaking device which Altair began to think was like that for a reason. Each Brotherhood had their secrets, though this one Altair might just wish to pry from these assassins.

The musty air gradually disappeared as they rounded a corner started a climb up a wider well lit tunnel made of what seemed gold plated stones, wide enough to accommodate Altair walking next to Malik and his escort walking next to him, with stone stairs instead of the slippery chute-like tunnel that lead to the dungeon. The encased staircase lead to another set of gold doors, probably only stone plated in gold also, with glyphs on them and the assassins symbol guarded with two what seemed to be two high ranking assassins with spears in their hands and scimitars at their waist. They were lead through the doors into a grand uprising hallway, gold plated as well, like a gallery of some sort as it stored more treasure than Altair had ever seen in his entire life. The shallow stairs led up to the archway of a hallway placed directly in the middle of the stairs and continued up past the hallway's archway, to another larger set of double gold plated doors with the same symbols as before, and guarded with four high level assassins, which no doubt led to where the Mentor was staying. Instead of walking up the full set of stairs Altair and Malik were led half way up the stairs and through the archway and down the hallway to more gold plated double doors. Two women assassins, high ranking but not as high of a rank as all the previous assassins, guarded the doors to which Altair could only guess was the Queens Suite.

From there Altair and Malik were lead into an antechamber where they were greeted, to Altair's surprise with the happy faces of three young women, young enough their breasts had barely begun to develop, in sheer white linen robes, gold and silver jewelry, eyes surrounded in black lining, and long dark hair pinned with a cone of fragrant fat. All three women spoke in a tongue that Altair did not understand but they communicated with the assassin escorts who communicated back with ease, possibly about the situation.

The assassin escorts carried Malik over to a closed off area of the chamber, not allowing Altair to follow behind the white linen that draped from the high ceilings. The escort assassins pushed him away when he tried to follow despite them but the young women came up from behind him and took his arms, leading him away from Malik. A decorated old woman with a crooked back walked with a equally crooked cane, which would have been comical had the occasion not been so heavy, sauntered out from behind the linen and talked the assassin that had been placed guard.

The antechamber like the rest of the upper area of the fortress was well lit and plated with gold walls scribed with strange glyphs, and was rather large and square, decorated with pillows and small beds for lounging, and furniture for storing jars and pots, linens, and what looked to be tiny knives. It was separated by a stone wall which Altair could only guess led to a bath from the scent of fresh salt water permeating the air. It was all very confusing and Altair found himself wishing he could understand and speak whatever language they were speaking.

With the three young women guiding him giggling and fawning as if they'd never seen a man in their life, as soon as he was turned to round the wall of the bath room Altair was greeted by an older woman though not so old as the woman he hoped was caring for Malik, she seemed to be of childbearing age which made Altair feel a bit easier about his situation. She smiled and spoke, “Welcome Master Assassin to the cleansing chamber.”

“Thank you,” Altair said as she bowed down in front of him. She too was draped in white linen and painted and accentuated with jewelry, “It is nice to talk to someone who is able to communicate with me.”

“Mistress said you would speak this language but I confess I am not well talking your language,” she explained. “Shall we be started? Mistress wishes you cleansed and prepared before you meet her.”

“What does this cleansing entail,” he questioned. “I see the water in the bath. I assume it's just to bath away my foul odor, but I also see jars with animal heads atop them, pots with paint and knives and things that seem to grip.”

“I do not understand entail,” the woman said.

Altair obliged an answer, “Consist of?”

It took her a moment but she came to a conclusion after which she asked, “Master Assassin have you never heard of cleansing? Does your country not have ritual bathing?”

“Please call me Altair,” he said putting a flat hand up. “No I have never heard of cleansing involving knives, we usually only bath very rarely.”

“It is not my place to call your name, Master Assassin.”

“May I have your name then if it is alright? I would like to address the person who is caring for me.”

She hesitated but then answered, “My name is Hui but please only use name if you talk to me, not about me. To talk about me I am the bath maid, and the jars you see are respective to their god or goddess betrayed and contain scent salts, and fragrant oils and soaps sacred to that deity. The pots contain paint and Kohl, the knives and grippers are for ridding your body of hair which may carry bugs, if I am saying this good? You must be rid of all hair before you are to see Mistress as it is a sacred ritual and is as well good hygiene.”

Altair gave Hui a worried, confused look but she smiled. “Do not worry,” she comforted. “I and my women will take be well in the care of you.”

Ever more confused, Altair asked, “Are they not too young to be called women? They cannot be much older than sixteen years.”

Hui shook her head in disagreement. “Because you are not from around here I will say, but on a note keep on mind that it is customary not talk about such things,” she explained. “Girls are old enough to be called women when they start their cycles. These women have went through their purification times much already.”

“Please forgive me, I am uneducated in your practices.” Altair, confused, questioned, “Purification?”

“The time when we women,” Hui blushed as she looked away from his eyes and gestured downward to waist level.

Altair took the hint and quickly said something to stave Hui away from the discussion. “Ah,” he said. “A woman's moon times.”

“If that is what you call them, then yes,” Hui said, hurried. “Now this subject is uncomfortable shall we start the cleansing process?”

Altair took a deep breath, looked over the linen curtain then back to the woman and nodded his head feeling as if he'd signed his death warrant, after which he was promptly startled by the young women quickly removing all articles of his pilfered clothing, leaving him feeling naked, confused, and when the young women started giggling and blushing and not so quietly whispering to themselves, a pang of embarrassment which remained scratching at the back of his mind.

They lead Altair over to spot in near the bath where they poured fresh water over his body and scrubbed the sand away from his creases, all the while he remained constantly aware of just where the three young women's hands were placed. They then pour oil atop of him, Altair insisted that he coat his own groin area which seemed to sadden the three of them a bit, coating him in a musky fragrance and guided him to where he'd went through the long painful process of getting rid of all of his unwanted hair. After they'd shaved his prickly facial hair and, at his request only cropped the hair atop his head, they began plucking out the rest. Every last hair on his legs, arms, underarms, groin and buttocks. Altair kept his mind off of the pain by listening to the other women who were playing the lute, harp and a flute of some kind, and thinking about Malik hoping for the best.

The music and warm salt water bath fragrant with musk and jasmine oils, which when added to the water gave the water an odd blue tint, beautiful but startling as it did not soak into Altair's skin, was very comforting after the hours of plucking was very comforting until the three young women started soaping and scrubbing him, even though he'd resigned to it hours before, all the while singing lyrics over and over which when questioned, Hui described it as a prayer to the goddess Isis. They rinsed Altair when he was finally clean, dried him and oiled him with fragrant oils. He had his eyes lined in Kohl, which was explained as good for deflecting the sun though Altair had yet to see how it worked.

By the time the cleansing was over, many hours had passed and Altair was dressed in Egyptian Assassin robes quite similar to the Levant Assassin robes, though they were made of a thinner linen for better air circulation and easier layering and a detachable hood which of course displayed a hawk head instead of an eagle, something that Altair contemplated while he awaited the Mentor on a bed of pillows watching three half-naked dancers and listening to the strum of lute, the harmonizing flute, and the beat of the drum the dancers were swaying their curves to.

Escort assassins had walked Altair up to the Kings Chamber, a well decorated grand chamber, a common room with very high ceilings and honeycomb like sleeping chambers in the upper walls for the assassins, with two attached chambers for storage of weapons and clothing, food, wine and water. Altair took a bite of the green apple he was offered by a completely nude woman, passing on the wine, with skin perfectly smooth, a bite wonderfully crispy and juicy, and the taste sweet yet slightly tart, floral and spicy.

“Do you like the way we dance Master Assassin,” one of the dancers asked swaying herself in front of him, it was first time he'd noticed really since arriving. She was woman in her early twenties, fully developed with big brown eyes, a straight black wig, gold jewelery, paint on her body and Kohl around her eyes.

“You're beautiful,” Altair said but he suddenly felt ashamed when her curves enticed him and he felt something inside him stir, with the want to hold those supple curves in his hands to pet her soft hair and suckle her breast, mess up the paint on her body in a desperate urgency, despite his highly disciplined self control. Altair felt his heart squeeze when he saw Malik enter the chamber, fresh from the cleansing with cropped hair, shaved face, Kohl lining his eyes giving him an exotic, erotic look and assassin robes, something Altair hadn't seen Malik don in many months and Altair imagined what Malik would look like without his clothes, how smooth would his bare skin feel freshly oiled sliding against him. Altair nearly licked his lips at the thought, having lost interest in the dancers, and then he noticed something. Malik very much looked like Altair was dressed but with the addition of a gauntlet that Altair had not received.

Malik, looking just a bit more than grumpy came and sat down next to Altair, he took a vine of grapes when offered a fruit and sat it down next to him. Hospitable yet Malik did not trust the Egyptian Assassins not to poison him again. Altair stared at him in silence before Malik turned to him, and then he looked at his lips, the gold on his lips, the fullness of his lips, how they screamed to be caressed. Altair licked his own lips.

“What is it Altair, you look as if you have seen a ghost,” Malik questioned. There was a hint of satire in his voice and Altair suddenly felt chastise for his thoughts.

Altair looked him in the eyes, then looked at his face noticing the absence of bruises. “I am just glad to see that you are okay Malik,” he said quickly to cover the emotions running through him.

“Of course I am okay Altair,” Malik said laying backward into the pillows with a huff. “I only was beaten savagely, whipped, poisoned, given the antidote just as I was dying and then healed by a mysterious woman in a matter of hours, after which I shaved and plucked, cleaned, oiled and painted on by very young women, and in consolation of my hardships I was given a prize for being a good sport.”

“Your sarcasm speaks multitudes Malik,” Altair said and laughed, his action causing Malik to glare at him as if to question if Altair was mocking him. Before daggers magically found his way into Altair's body by Malik's hands, Altair pointed out the gauntlet. “By the way, what is with that gauntlet?”

Altair watched Malik squeeze his right hand into a fist and out from the top just over the protected knuckles shot three six inch, thin impressive daggers, like an upside down revision of a hidden blade. Upon releasing his fist, the blades disappeared. Malik squeezed his fist again and released it, extending and descending the blades.

“Magnificent,” Altair exclaimed, amazed. “How is that possible?”

Malik answered, “There is a trigger in the palm of my hand. Squeezing the trigger shoots out the blades quickly and efficiently,” Malik turned his arm over, showing the mechanism to Altair.

“Quietly as well, quite extraordinary. This could revolutionize the way we take down our targets.”

“It is quite heavy though, heavier than the weight of the hidden blade, and its weight slows it down I've noticed, not to mention I have no way to take it off,” Malik said, peeved. “It was strapped to me by an old woman with a crooked spine, before I was allowed to leave the Queens Chamber. She said it once belonged to her son who's primary hand was his left and could not use a right handed hidden blade. She called it the claws of the Sphinx.”

“She had it made for him, then,” Altair explained more to himself than to Malik, trying to understand the mechanism that which was alluding him at the moment. If the old woman let Malik keep such a weapon, Altair wished to study it should they make it safely back to Masyaf. “That explains the ego boost of the two extra blades considering he would not have been able to use a sword.”

“I know how he feels,” Malik said not bothering to screen the malice from his tone of voice.

“Malik,” Altair started, but he was silence when Malik spoke.

“I am personally ready to leave this place as soon as possible, but it seems we are still being held captive by the woman with the staff and her lap bitch,” Malik said as Altair watched him reach for a grape which he sniffed first and took a nibble from before popping the whole thing into his mouth. Altair nearly groaned aloud, suddenly not in full control of himself again. “Am I right in thinking that she,” Malik continued after he swallowed. “A woman is the Mentor of the Egyptian Brotherhood?”

Altair took a deep breath. “Many of her servants I have met only call her Mistress,” he said. “Though her assassins call her Mentor. Neferure, her lap bitch as you call her, however is a Master Assassin and from what I can tell, Neferure's placement has her at second-in-command should the Mistress truly be Mentor.”

“I do not care what their ranks are,” Malik said after he spit out a grape seed. “I just know that the lap bitch was the one commanding the assassins who ambushed me.”

“Speaking of that,” Altair asked, concerned. “What happened Malik? How did they capture you?

Sarcastic as ever Malik replied, “Well I am unable to defend myself Altair, what with my missing left arm.”

“Please be serious.”

“Fine they ambushed me, Altair. Is that what you wish to hear, that I was too weak to defend myself properly?” Malik spit out the rhetorical question spitefully at Altair. “I used my knife to defend myself, sticking one of them in the side but a coward struck me on the head from behind and I was knocked out. I awoke only to find myself in the dungeon, in pain, shackled to the wall by my neck and hand. I was beaten for information on the whereabouts of the Templar we are looking for, whipped for my noncompliance, and then poisoned when they informed me that you, Altair had come looking for me.” Malik's voice broke slightly. “Just when I was about to give up hope that you would show because that is what Al Mualim had trained us to do.”

“I could not just leave you behind Malik.”

“Listen to me,” Malik voice broke even more, but it was still only slight enough that a well trained person would barely notice, and then was coated in spite and anger. Malik turned away. “Whining about like a woman. I am an assassin, I am a cold blooded killer, Altair. I have left partners behind and have been left behind. Why was I so afraid that you were not coming for me?”

Altair watched as Malik poured his emotions out like water over a fall. Pain radiated from his heart and his stomach twisted at the thought of Malik dying, making him nauseous. Altair did not even notice that his hand was reaching, touching the side of Malik's face to bring it do his own, uncaring if anyone else in the room was watching. Altair pulled Malik's face away from facing the wall, looking him in the eye. “Malik,” Altair said but suddenly the music stopped, alerting both Altair and Malik. Altair dropped his hand. 

The women stopped their seductive dancing to rest in a corner of the large chamber and seconds later Neferure with her hood up as always stepped into the grand chamber followed by the mysterious woman, the priestess or mentor or mistress, with the staff also with her hood up.


End file.
